


Worthy of His Hire

by vjs2259



Category: Babylon 5
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-09 22:21:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3266462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vjs2259/pseuds/vjs2259
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sinclair explains recent events on the station to Delenn. Set in Season 1, just after  By Any Means Necessary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worthy of His Hire

The small conference room was deserted, and Jeff Sinclair ducked inside, sighing in relief as he stole this brief moment of quiet. It had been a week since the dock-worker's strike ended, since the Rush Act had been invoked, and since he'd managed to pull another set of chestnuts out of the fire. Things were back to normal, as normal as they ever got on this benighted outpost. Military, diplomatic, economic...the place was too many things to too many people.

He pulled a chair out from the table, slumping into the seat and stretching his legs out straight. Leaning back, he laced his fingers behind his head and closed his eyes. There hadn't been a crisis in two whole days and if it lasted two more he might finally catch up on his sleep. Meanwhile a moment to close his eyes was bliss.

“Commander?”

The soft voice brought him wide awake and in his haste to sit up straight he sent the chair wheeling backwards, thudding into the wall and almost topping him out onto the floor. With a disarming smile, he nodded a greeting as he regained his balance. Straightening in the chair, he replied formally,“Ambassador.” His smile was unfeigned even as he maintained a hidden caution. At least he hoped he was keeping it hidden. He liked Delenn, he had liked her, dammit he still liked her! Although he could never quite look at her the same way now. He kept seeing a filmy grey hood falling away from her face.

Delenn gracefully slipped into a chair opposite him across a long narrow table, forestalling his attempts to rise with a wave of her hand. “I hope this is not a bad time,” she began, then stopped at the look of forced politeness that swiftly crossed his face. She went on, hastening to reassure him, “There is no situation that I need you to address.” Pausing a moment, she examined him with close regard. “You look tired.” Taking the time to look around the room she noted the dim lights and lack of occupants. “I am interrupting; you wish to be alone,” she added, making a motion as if to leave.

“No, no,” he added. “There's a meeting here in 20 minutes. More fallout from the strike. And I'm early, for once. I was just...thinking.” His voice dropped off, losing the thread of explanation. God, he was tired.

“With your eyes closed?” she asked with a touch of amusement. “A strange place for mediation,” she added, eyes discreetly aimed at her hands, lying loose in her lap.

His eyes crinkled above a rueful smile. “I should take it up again. Meditation, that is. Maybe it would help make sense of everything that goes on around here.”

“It might at that,” replied Delenn. “I would be more than happy to advise you in Minbari techniques,” she began, but broke off at his almost comical look of dismay. “Perhaps not at this time. You mentioned a 'strike',” she continued. “I have been hearing of little else since my return. I came seeking an explanation.”

“I think we've got it settled,” replied Sinclair evenly. “The workers are back on the job. Crisis averted,” he sighed heavily, rubbing his temple. “Or at least crisis delayed.”

“Tell me,” she said simply. “I want to understand. I want to help if I can.”

Sinclair noted the curiosity and concern in her voice. “There was an accident in the docking bay. A Narn ship was badly damaged. The bay was very badly damaged. One of the dock workers was killed. The other workers went on strike—first they called in sick when they weren't really ill and then refused to do their jobs until certain demands were met.”

Delenn leaned forward, concern and confusion heavy in her voice. “Someone was killed? And the others refused to work? Can they do that? What demands do they have?”

Sinclair shifted in his chair. “Their demands are reasonable, but unfortunately the politicians back home don't see it that way.” He laced his fingers together, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table between them. “It's the usual things; too much work, too few people, not enough pay...this time you can add in sub-standard construction materials that led to a real safety issue.”

Delenn contemplated this. “I do not think we have ever had a strike on Minbar. There are times when the Workers lay down their tools, but that is their right. Then we talk.” She added quickly, “The talks are generally short. Our system relies on their labor.”

“Do they never stop work for an unjustifiable reason? And do the rest of you never push them back to work without an agreement?” Sinclair's eyes were fixed on her, as if pinning her to the truth.

“I suppose they do. Sometimes. And I suppose we do. Sometimes.” Delenn shook her head. “I don't think I've ever considered it that closely. Perhaps I should. It is possible to take people too much for granted.”

“You're darn right it is,” replied Sinclair, letting out his breath. “Hard to be stuck in the middle – when you think they've got a point but you can't get anyone above you to listen.”

Delenn sat still for a moment as if looking inward. “Yes. That is very difficult.” She shook her head slightly, then continued. “What was the outcome of your talks?”

“More of a directive from...well, from me I guess. The government back home invoked the Rush Act, a law that allows replacement of striking workers, even if it takes violence. But violence was the last thing we needed so I came up with a compromise using the very powers they'd set in motion by invoking the Act. The workers agreed with it. The Senate later approved it but barely. I'm not very popular back home right now.” His eyes crinkled at the edges but his smile faded quickly. “They'll get some more people and we'll replace the defective equipment, all out of the military budget. No pay raise though I don't think that was the main issue.”

“I see,” said Delenn, shifting in her chair. She looked at him steadily and said, “My government will make up the deficit in the military budget. With some extra to ensure the bays are properly repaired and the Narns are compensated.” She leaned forward, “Some of this will be officially granted. Some will be, as you say, under the table?”

Sinclair smiled broadly. “That would be a big help, although accepting more revenue from the Minbari government might not help my popularity back home.”

“Perhaps not,” replied Delenn. “But it is the work that is important, is it not?”

“Not just the work,” answered Sinclair. “'The laborer is worthy of his hire' is an old saying among my people. The dock workers deserve both our respect and proper recompense.”

“We are in agreement then,” said Delenn. She added thoughtfully, “I will make it a point to consider the Worker caste and their concerns, more than I have before. They are the hands, as we Religious are the spirit, and the Warriors the heart, of my people. Hands that build are perhaps even more necessary than hands that fight, or hands that pray.”

“Amen,” said Jeff solemnly. He stood as he noticed a knot of people gathering outside the door. Delenn rose and walked towards the exit to the conference room. She looked back at him, bowing slightly in farewell and he suddenly wondered about her role. She was Religious caste but he knew now she'd been involved in the war between their peoples. He had been a soldier in that same war, a warrior he supposed, but now his job was more like that of a builder. He spent most of his time in discussion and paperwork, trying to run this place and make it the center for peaceful interaction between that races it was meant to be. Maybe it was progress, moving from soldier to builder. He smiled to himself as he greeted the members of the Safety Committee and the Budget Committee. As they took their seats he swallowed a laugh. Hell, maybe if he lived long enough he'd move on to priest.


End file.
